Isabelle's Christmas
by EarthWorlder
Summary: It's Christmastime in the town, and the Mayor is away on a trip, leaving Isabelle alone to cope with her feelings for her. Can she make it through the holidays, or will the season's stressors prove too much of a burden to bear?
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

_ Click. Click. Click._ Isabelle didn't even bother to click the pen in tune with the radio. This was the fourth time _O Tannenbaum_ had come on the station today, and every jolly little plink of the piano was starting to grate more and more on her nerves - not that she could be bothered to switch the dial, though, there was work to do. Looking down at the papers strewn across her desk, the neat, minuscule print and official wording all seemed to blur together into some insurmountable beast, and she was by no measure a knight worthy of its challenge. The town hall was devoid of any other company, except for the dust motes that filted about in the lazy sunlight cast through the window and the cat-shaped clock that would not stop staring at her. Its tail waved back and forth in tandem with its wooden paw. Their steady motions pounded themselves into her skull. _Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock._

A groan dragged itself from her lips, and her head hit her furry folded arms with a dull thud. The bell in her hair tinkled out a sour note, just as unhappy as she was. This was not how she had planned on spending her day off, but the holidays weren't going to organize themselves anytime soon, and Mona, the mayor, was busy on an out-of-town trip until Tuesday.

Circumstances, no, fate itself had conspired to assail her with an unending fountain of paperwork, with nary a helping hand. No quantity of coffee nor coca was going to pull her through this slog alone; she could feel the empty leather chair in the back mocking her. She dragged her paw towards her mug with great effort, tipping it over and spilling all the nothing it was holding over her chicken-scratch notes, plus the doodles she had made in the margins. It made a loud '_clunk_' sound as it toppled on the hollow desk. She watched it roll lazily off of the counter, hitting the floor with an even louder '_thunk!_'

That was it: She needed a walk. Something, anything to get herself out of there. The slew of forms and fill-out-fields could wait. Lifting her head, she shoved back from the desk, standing up for a well-deserved stretch at last. She kicked her chair in and grabbed her sweater vest (it was a viridian green, today) from the rack besides the christmas tree. It smelled vaguely of pine. She looked over the ornaments as she fastened the buttons: Among the red and green trinkets, here was a miniature Eiffel Tower that Gulliver had mailed in, there was an orange seashell Pierce had found, and… that was weird. There was a small photo, the one she and Mona had taken their first Christmas together. It had been stuck between the pine needles. She pinched it and lifted it from its prison.

"What are you doing here…?" she murmured to herself, before tucking the wayward momento in her breast pocket - she would have to return it later.

Stepping outside, she squinted, dragging the heavy wooden door closed behind her. It was only slightly cloudy, and the high sun gleamed off of the snowy ground, houses, and snow like they were polished metal. By this point, she was used to it, and besides, almost anything was better than slaving away inside town hall all day. Sighing, she wisted after a genie's lamp, if only to wish the mayor back home with the contents. It wasn't even the workload that troubled her the most - she had pulled much more impressive feats to earn her degree - but rather just how _boring_ her job felt without any company.

The frigid carpet crunched beneath her feet as she trudged westwards, away from town. Sure, she had been alone before, back between when Tortimer had left and Mona had arrived. Yes, it was the exact same work. Okay, she had felt a little lonely, but she survived, hadn't she? _I've gotten too used to having her around,_ she thought. Tortimer was nice and all, but they didn't have much in common besides their work. When Mona had sat down on her very first day, though, they hadn't stopped talking until it was time to leave for the night. In fact, they didn't stop for her second or third day, either. Conversation during work was as constant as their presence there, and it was as free-flowing as the river that ran through the town.

Isabelle strained to remember - it was a jar of candies Tort had left on his desk. Peppermints. It was what had hit it off for them, and after that, Mona took care to ensure that the jar was full each day. She kept a bag of mints in her drawer, despite the fact that anyone barely ate them. Now, though, the lid was starting to gather dust. So was the dark mahogany desktop. Isabelle felt like she was, too. The office without its resident president was made hollow, like the mayor's essence had crept into the woodwork, infused it with its presence, then abandoned it with the mayor herself.

Isabelle decided that she much did not like being in the office without her. She tossed the idea of taking her work home over in her head- maybe getting away from the papers and the desk would keep her mind off of her missing company? No, that wouldn't do. She had to be present if any of the townspeople needed her. It was part of the job.

"What're you doing walking out in this kind of weather, snarl?" A familiar, gruff voice from behind her made her jump a foot off the snow. Her train of thought vanished off its rails, and she whipped her head back to see Wolfgang lounging on a bench, his navy fur wrapped loosely in a leather jacket. Not only had she passed right by him, but he had said something and she had not heard a word of it in her thoughts. "Wassa matter, Isabelle? You have your head too stuck in the ground to say 'hi' back?"

"O-oh! Sorry, Wolfgang! I didn't see you there." She flushed slightly, turning to face him. _Speak of the devil… _she cursed herself. His slim eyes tracked her with perfect precision. A foggy breath puffed from the end of his snout. He leaned back, spreading his arms across the bench and scratching the scruff under his muzzle.

"Don't worry about it, I guess. Didn't expect anyone else to be walking around on a day like this 'less they had something important to do. You know, like you always do."

"Yeah," she responded, casting her gaze aside, "I didn't meant to ignore you, though. Just, I had something on my mind. I was trying to, uh... get away from work, actually."

"No kidding? 'Get away from work?' Are you sure you're feeling alright in the mental faculties there, kid?" He was only half-joking. "Don't tell me they replaced you with a robot."

"Tell me about it…" she sighed, brushing the hair from her face, "It's just, with Ms. Mayor gone, and all. You get it. It's too quiet in Town Hall to be cooped up inside all day."

"...Too quiet?" he snorted, "Well, whatever you say. I'd enjoy a bit more silence around here, personally." He crossed his legs, smirking. "And you don't have to 'Ms. Mayor' her, you know. You're better friends with Mona than I am, and I don't even kiss her feet like that."

"I-" she began, before he cut her off.

"That is, unless she actually likes all the groveling, of course," he shot, letting out a brash, mean chuckle. Isabelle frowned for a split second. "But, no, really. Lighten up. It's the holidays. Santa. Joy. Goodwill. Presents. All that jazz. I hear ol' Nook's gonna be hosting an Xmas party soon. Invite only. Don't worry, there's no way he wouldn't slip you one, _Ms. Mayor-ette_. You should actually go this time, though. It might do that work-addled brain of yours some good."

Isabelle nodded, her cheeks burning red under the yellow fur. The corners of her mouth nearly groaned with the force she needed to lift them into a smile. "Sure, Wolfgang. I'll, uh, I'll be there… thanks for the advice, but there's so much to do around here, I would be silly not to obsess over my job. Especially at this time of year. Just trying to make the town a better place, you know, hah-hah."

"Uh-huh," he responded flatly, picking something out of his fangs. "Welp, I oughta be gettin' out of your hair now. Merry you-know-what. Oh, and one last thing." To her relief, he rose, turning to face her. "I'm rootin' for ya, kid."

As he trudged away into the snow, Isabelle could not help but wonder what he meant. For the moment, though, she figured it was time to get back to work before she was embarrassed any further.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

"_Oh mi nao. Que que, mi na oooooh…_" K. K. Slider's familiar, peculiar way of singing marked the turn of the week, Saturday going into Sunday. It also marked the height of The Roost's business - patrons swam about in the café's low lighting, before settling down for the show and drinks. The coffee grounds and tea leaves emanated into the air, mixing and blending in subtle, secretive maneuvers. Those who had come with company were seated in the booths, or around the tables. Those who had not collected on the stools along the scratched and stained serving counter.

Isabelle sat at the counter. Her carefully-filed claw tapped against the wood as she looked around, trying to feel better than she actually did. The week's strain had worn her down to a near-pulp - her wrists had started to cramp from the constant writing, and her eyes ached with all the fine print. However, the agony of routine had outweighed her exhaustion, and she could not bear going straight home for the fifth time in a row. Mona had always pushed her to take better care of herself, so it was for the best, anyways. Probably. Hopefully.

She settled on staring at the bows of holly hung along the brick and paneled walls. This town always got in the spirit of things, even Brewster, of all people. That is, if he was the one who had actually put the decorations up in the first place. No one saw him much outside of The Roost, except maybe Blathers, but her relationship with the owl was mostly business; it was not her place to be poking around the citizens' personal affairs willy-nilly. Maybe he was a slave to his work… _just like me_, she thought, or maybe she was just pipe-dreaming. Either way, it felt nice to imagine they had something in common.

Her attention turned to K. K. as he finished his song, shaking out his paws while quiet clapping echoed off the hard walls. It wasn't often that he played at this venue anymore, but apparently the holidays marked a special occasion. Not that the crowd seemed to mind. A member of the audience walked up to him, saying something indiscernible over the chatter, and he nodded back. He set himself upright once more, tapped his guitar in a silent rhythm, then delved into another melody, much more involved than the previous one. He closed his eyes, and for him, the world melted away.

He was talented, the closest thing to a celebrity this place had, besides the mayor, of course. Everybody knew who he was, but Isabelle didn't understand the crush the entire female half the town (and even some of the male half) seemed to have on him. She wouldn't mind, normally, but the worst part was when Mona had joined their ranks, dragging her along to Club LOL every other week for "a good time." Every time Isabelle didn't put up a single iota of resistance, but some little berry of resentment beaded each time she had to wait until midnight to pry her boss's ravenous eyes and ears away from the dog. Even if it was her own fault for tagging along.

Isabelle groaned through closed lips, rubbing her face. This wasn't making her feel better. None of this entire week had made her feel any better. She looked around to everyone else; they were all chatting over their orders and getting along just fine. Even the loners sitting besides her seemed to have some levity garnered by the performance and atmosphere. _Why not me, then? _she begged herself. This was supposed to be a happy time, this was supposed to be a relaxing place, so why wasn't she either? What was her issue? _Shouldn't have bothered coming…_

Just as she was about to hop off her seat, she saw Brewster's towering, dark-blue body approach her out of the corner of her eye. _Screw it_._ Might as well get something for the road._ She shimmied around on her seat to face him and the wordless cloak he carried about.

"..." He stared at her through the sharp, tiny, glass circles on his bespectacled face. The curved lenses diffused the light in just the right way to hide his eyes and everything they revealed. "...Ms. Isabelle. I'm afraid I don't see you here very often."

"Oh, don't mind me, Brewster…" she said, waving away the comment, "it's been a bit of a week. I'm just here for a pick me up, so I won't trouble you for long. I know it's a busy night for you."

"I see." He paused for a moment, before continuing, "In that case, what may I get for you?"

Isabelle looked at her hand. She had scribbled down what she had wanted on her paw pad, but it had smeared too much to read. Some little hunk of her heart deep down inside her snapped in half. _Just this week, God_, she said in a silent prayer, _Please, just let me get through this week._ She forced another smile before responding, "I'll just have whatever Mona usually gets, I guess. I don't know much about the menu, ha ha."

"...Okay," was all she got in response. Brewster turned around, maneuvering among the appliances, glassware, and condiments. She didn't know if she was grateful or worried that the barista was so terse with her. On one hand, a conversation seemed like an energy sink too great to pay, but on the other, the little nagging voice in her head made her worry if she had upset him. Like it always did.

Eventually, he returned to the counter, setting down a piping-hot drink in a cardboard sleeve and a traveler's lid. "One peppermint mocha. To go, I assume." The sharp, sweet scent wafted through the hole in the lid, drifting right into her nose. _That smell…_ the twinge of mint managed to soothe some of the woes that had been clinging to her fur like glue, even if it was by a small margin. Her cheeks rose a little. Mint. Mint was a good smell. Maybe this night wasn't all bad.

"Thank you, Brewster," she quickly told him, before fishing around in her pockets for her Bells, "It's 200, right?"

He noticed as he was setting down another drink on the table and quickly shook his head. "No, no. Don't worry about it. It's not on you. Don't mind the other cup, either. It's for someone else."

"You mean it's on the house? I insist, really. You're too kind."

"No, not like that… Ms. Mona opened a tab for you a while ago. She paid for your next few drinks in advance."

"I - oh," Isabelle stopped dead in her tracks. She felt herself getting red again, but quickly recollected herself - the mayor was almost too nice sometimes. She resumed, "That was nice of her. I'll be sure to tell her I appreciate it the next time we see each other. And thanks again, Brewster, but I should probably get going sometime soon…" She started to slide off of the stool.

"...Wait. Ms. Isabelle. There's something else, too," he mentioned, coughing once into his fist. "A few of the townsfolk have asked me about you. Forgive me if I'm intruding, but they've been concerned about your health. They tell me you haven't been looking well recently. I suppose I am just an old bird, but I am worried as well."

There was a moment of silence between them. The guitar kept strumming in the background. Isabelle couldn't see his expression, but his eyes felt like they were drilling into the back of her head. _Worried?_ That epithet was the straw that broke the camel's back. _Did I really look that bad? Do I _still_ look that bad?_ Her self-confidence started to drain from her, collecting in a puddle on the floor. She tried, in vain, to assure herself that there was nothing wrong; it was just a bad week.

"There's nothing wrong. It's just been a bad week," she whispered. Her hand gripped the side of her seat so hard she started to sweat, or maybe that was just the hot wave of shame which washed over her. Perhaps it wasn't just shame alone - she could feel some bitter embers of anger in there, too. Hell, it might as well have been an entire cocktail of negative emotions, and she was the martini glass. The entire week was coming crashing down around her. She decided that she wanted to leave. Immediately.

"Are you sure? Ms. Isabelle, you can speak freely to me. Many other patrons here have. I am no stranger to keeping secrets."

"Yes. I'm sure," she growled, surprising herself. She opened her mouth to say something else - an apology, perhaps - but someone cut her off.

"Hey, Isabelle!" Pierce's voice trumpeted across the counter, his footfalls heavy against the wooden floor. He brushed his blue feathers back; a piece of tape was stuck to his sharp beak. He stopped right beside her, pressing his hands down on the counter. "Yo, Brewster! Sorry I'm late, I was just wrapping a few presents. Slept through half the morning again, so I had to wait 'till now to do it. How are you guys?" he chimed, oblivious, "Excited for the holidays?"

"Hi, Pierce. I'm sorry, but I need to be leaving soon." Isabelle reached for her coffee, trying to hide her tired, frustrated eyes. This was the last thing she needed.

"Aw man, Izzy, that sucks. You should really try getting out of the house some more. It'd be cool to see you in town more often. I think other people would like it, too. Plus, it really helps with your figure!"

"Yeah…" She trailed off, wiping her face. Not a single speck of her was in the mood to be 'Izzy'-ed right now, or to have her well-being critiqued further, let alone her body.

"Jeez, who dumped a load of molasses on her?" Pierce laughed, turning to Brewster. "You'd figure the holiday spirit would brighten the mood around here."

The barista cleared his throat. "Pierce, I don't think-"

"I'm just teasing. And another thing, I almost forgot! Nook asked me to pawn this off on you, Izzy." When she moved her sleeve from her eyes, he had a red letter, with the raccoon's signature Bell-shaped seal on the front, and was waving an inch from her face. "It's an invitation to his party. You totally need to come, plus, I hear the Mayor's going to be there, too! You two are real close, right?"

She took the letter, holding it with two hands. "Thanks, Pierce," she told him, as politely as she could muster, "you're right, we're pretty close. I'd like to think so, at least."

"No problem, I'm glad to be of service, instead of the other way around, ha ha ha. Try and feel better by then, alright? People like ya too much to see you like this." He patted her too rough on the back.

Brewster spoke again, firmer this time. "Pierce. I think Ms. Isabelle needs a degree of space for the time being. Perhaps you should grant her some."

"Oh, shoot! I'm sorry, Izzy, I didn't know." He seemed a bit embarrassed, rubbing his shoulder. "Why didn't you just say so? Is it something about Mona?"  
Isabelle turned her head towards him, twiddling the envelope in her hands. "Wait, what do you mean, 'something about Mona'?"

"Well, uh, I just mean, er, nothing, is all. You two are just really good friends, right?"

"We are. What's your point?" she pressed him,

"There's no point, unless, ha-ha, you mean, well... " Pierce fumbled with his words, while the pigeon behind the counter looked on in stoic horror. His moustache twitched, sensing the impending disaster.

"Unless I mean what?" A sinking feeling started to swallow up the contents of her stomach.

"W-What some people have been talking about around town, it's just gossip, I swear!"

"Pierce!" Her voice was ragged as she spoke. "Please, I only want to know."

He winced, finally admitting, "People are asking if there's, like, uh, a thing between you two?"

"A 'thing'? Pierce, don't tell me you're talking about…"

Brewster finished her sentence, shooting a harsh glare at the other bird. "...a relationship. That's what he means."

Isabelle shook her head. She was holding onto the end of her rope by a fraying thread, and it had just snapped. "No way…"

"To be fair, Ms. Isabelle, you two do appear to be quite affable with one another."

The exhausted shih tzu sunk her head into her hands, groaning. "What… what would even make you think I swung that way?! Or that she swung that way? Do I look like I know? Because _I_ don't even know."

"It's just a hunch. You shouldn't let petty rumors trouble you."

"Yeah, what he said!" Pierce jumped in, "I mean, it's not like it's true or anything, right? ...right?"

Isabelle didn't respond, the gears turning inside her head. Suddenly, it was like the planets had aligned: the loneliness, the mints, what Wolfgang had said, they all started to make sense. Her emotions began to click, but their implications formed a touchy-feely mess much greater in size than its components. _Great. Just fantastic_, she thought to herself. _God, why do you hate me? _The butterflies in her stomach made her want to puke. The two birds were gawking at her.

"Izzy… are you crushing on the mayor?"

"I… damn it." She lifted her hand to pound the counter, but she didn't have it in her. "How did everyone else realize it before I did?"

"Now, there's no shame in being unsure about your feelings," Brewster tried to comfort her, despite the exorbitant chagrin burning at her face.

"I know, but… it's been four _years_, Brewster, _years_. I thought all this 'love' stuff was supposed to be intuitive. Instead, I've been pining after my boss since I the day I met her, like my life is one big, crummy romance novel! How much of a dunce can I be?!"

"Look on the bright side, at least now you know," Pierce offered. "All you need to do is tell her."

"Tell her? I guess so…" Of the many things she did not want to think about, that prospect was chief among them. Her hands trembled at the mere concept. "I need to take this one step at a time, though. And, please, please, keep this between us. It's bad enough that everyone's guessed it already."

"It's our secret," Brewster assured her with a nod.

"Totally. And… sorry about breaking the news," Peirce apologized.

"Don't worry about it, I guess. As much as I didn't want to hear it, it's probably for the best," she told him, before grabbing her cup and taking a huge swig - her throat was as dry as Tortimer's shell. Much to her surprise, an herbal, bitter flavor hit her tongue, washing over it and down her throat. She swallowed, but grimaced at the taste. "Bleh… this isn't mint?"

Suddenly, Pierce's eyes went wide. "Izzy… that was my drink."

"Oh, sorry… I'll just, uh, grab mine, then," she dismissed him, reaching for the other cup. A woozy feeling draped itself over her, and her arms felt like they were made of lead. A yawn escaped her mouth. She was beyond exhausted... It was probably time to head back home and figure everything out. "I'll pay you for it, if you want."

"No, you drank my extra-strength sleeping tea… it's my prescription."

"W-what?" Her eyes were starting to get heavy, too much to reveal her shock. She put both hands on the counter, trying to support herself, but she could feel the imminent, unrelenting advances of Mr. Sandman encroaching upon her waking mind. A heady feeling, somehow even worse than the one she already had, was whisking her away. Her voice was starting to slur, and the music playing in the background had grown faint in her ears. At least the night's emotional rollercoaster would finally be coming to an end. "W-what's in this thing?"

Brewster looked down at her, getting quite concerned, and responded, "It's a blend of Chamomile, pine needles, and… poppy extract. Pierce, go get a doctor. Now."

"Yessir!" the hawk rose immediately, almost toppling the chair next to him.

"No, no, I'm fine… I'm… fine…" Isabelle's eyes closed, but they didn't open again for the rest of the night.


End file.
